M L F
by Honesty
Summary: SLASH. Starsky and Hutch are NOT fruits. Starsky chooses the wrong way to prove it.


Title: Making Like Faggots

Author: Mogs

Type: Slash

Censor: PG-13

Disclaimer: Listen, if they were mine, they'd be wearing less. And boffing like bunnies.

Feedback/Critique: Please!  
  
A/N: Inspired by a conversation on this group about whether others think Starsky & Hutch are gay.  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
It was all Lieutenant Crowell's fault, really, nothing to do with me. No,  
scratch that, it was Dobey's fault for taking all his leave at one go, and leaving us with Crowell in charge. I can't help it if Crowell has weird ideas about stuff, can I?  
  
We were in the squadroom when he said it, just typing up reports of the robbery of a lingerie store by a perv called Shorty Jones (we'd been trying to find a murder suspect at the time, but what can I say?) Now the more I see of Crowell, the more I realise that Dobey's actually pretty relaxed about reports, cos even Dobey doesn't expect reports on petty crime within an hour of the perp being arrested. Particularly when we've got streets to patrol.  
  
"Starsky, Hutchinson! Will you two stop making like faggots and get me that damned report?"  
  
Can you believe it? Yep. That's what he said, all right. I mean, me and Hutch are normal everyday guys, and everyone in here knows it. Okay, so we touch each other sometimes, but it's not like it means anything. We don't touch each other like that. And putting a hand on someone's shoulder when you're reading over their shoulder doesn't mean you wear lacy underwear and call everyone darling.  
  
Well, I was a bit kinda surprised for a moment and I didn't say anything,  
but Hutch's head shot up, and I just knew he was within an inch of saying something we'd both regret for a long, long time. I clamped my hand down hard on his shoulder before he could do anything.  
  
"We are not-" It was funny, I'd never seen Hutch get quite that angry quite that fast before. He threw my hand off and rose quickly to his feet, snatching the report out of the typewriter and scribbling his name on the bottom.  
  
"You think we're making like faggots?" I put mock-hurt into his voice,  
overriding whatever it was Hutch was going to say. "We weren't making like faggots."  
  
"If it looks like a dog, it's a dog," Crowell growled. He ignored the finished report that Hutch thrust into his hand.  
  
"Listen," I said with feigned innocence. "That wasn't 'making like faggots'; this is 'making like faggots'."  
  
Hutch gave me this kinda horrified look, and froze. "Now, c'mon Starsk,  
please-"  
  
I didn't wait for him to unfreeze, because Hutch standing still with his mouth open was just the opening I needed. I've dipped him before, but there was just him and me, then, and I didn't follow up on it. This time--what can I say? I was mad, and I was feeling a bit crazy, and Hutch standing there looking horrified was just asking to be dipped. So I grabbed him in a classic ballroom hold and dipped him every bit as enthusiastically as Ramon would, giving him an exaggerated smooch on the way down.  
  
I must have done it pretty well, because his eyes stopped being panicky and took on this half-glazed look by the time I let go of him. The entire squadroom--except Crowell, of course--was laughing its head off, and Crowell stalked back into Dobey's office and slammed the door shut him.  
  
Making like faggots indeed! Good riddance to him. I gave an elaborate bow to the room and sat down. Hutch looked at me for a moment with this kinda blank look on his face, and then pretty much collapsed into his own chair.  
  
Now that was when I started getting a bit nervous, because you don't do things like that to Hutch without some pretty serious fallout, and I was gonna have to be in a car with this guy for the rest of the day. If I was lucky, he'd just have his tantrum now and get it over with, but when Hutch gets in a mood with you you're very lucky indeed to get away with a one-off temper tantrum. Half the squadroom was watching us, looking like novice demolitionists at a very interesting lecture, but Hutch just carried on sitting there with this odd thoughtful look on his face.  
  
Which could mean either one of two things. Either Hutch was cold-bloodedly plotting revenge, in which case my ass was pretty well grass, or--well, I couldn't think of any other reasonable explanation. Maybe he was just thinking about what we'd done?  
  
Well, that got me thinking about it of course, and I hafta say, I did it much better than the first time. Hutch is tall than me, and just a bit heavier, and getting the angle just so takes real skill, particularly when the dippee isn't completely willing. And to dip someone you hafta hold them real close and which woulda felt weird if it had been any other guy,  
but cos it was Hutch it felt kinda right. Not strange at all, just kinda . . .  
  
Nice. It felt nice.  
  
Now kissing him, that shoulda felt weird. I mean, we're partners, we've had to get pretty close for quite a lot of reasons in the past, but squashing close to someone to shelter from a bomb blast isn't that far from holding them for any other reason. Kissing them's a different matter, right? At least he killed that damned moustache, 'cause that woulda been too strange for words. As it was, I couldn't find any words for how it did feel. Just thinking about it, I could feel that pressure again, and how his eyes looked when they lost that panicky look and went wide and awed on me, and what would have happened if I'd taken that kiss just a little bit deeper.  
  
Always knew that boy thought too much. Now he's got me thinking about it too much too, damn him.  
  
I looked across at him, and he was staring at me, and I just knew that he was thinking the same kind of things that I was. Our eyes met. It wasn't exactly across a crowded room as the stories say, but it might as well have been.  
  
His eyes have some kinda mystic power to them. They look at mine, and my whole body overheats.  
  
He blinked then, and went back to looking normal. "Starsk . . . Starsky .  
. . Starsky, I don't know if you're done trying to seduce me, but we've got streets to watch."  
  
I was still thinking things that no red-blooded guy ought to think and it took me a moment to concentrate on what he was saying. Especially as the word 'seduce' was doing strange things to my heart rate. "What? Oh.  
Yeah."  
  
He slid outta his chair and held the door open for me. As I walked past him he whispered in my ear, "We'll send him a thank you card on our first anniversary." and pulled the door closed behind us.  
  
We're nearly down at the parking garage now, and I'm glad he isn't trying to talk to me 'cause my brain feels like a hamster on a wheel. Revenge,  
right? That was all it was, and I hafta say, it was a good one, 'cause for a minute he really managed to mess with my head for a bit there. I know he's good at head games, and this was a classic, but he's straight,  
he really wouldn't think anything like that about me.  
  
The parking garage's deserted and he's got that kinda look in his eyes again, the one he had in the squadroom.  
  
Now, c'mon Hutch, you've had your revenge now, you don't need to--  
  
FIN


End file.
